


Green to Go, Yellow to Slow, and Blue to Woo

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Benny, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, But Even So No Real Spoilers, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Childhood Friends, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, First Dates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, References to Canon, Romantic Gestures, Shy Dean, Surprised Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, romantic dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas’s face flashes red like a red light, though his actions are entirely the opposite: He steps closer to Dean accepts the hand offered to him. It’s nothing more than a light weaving of their hands, but Dean can feel Cas’s pulse drumming against his fingers, and that calms him down some, because the butterflies in his stomach are edgily awaiting the green light. Cas, however, is looking up at him with those deep blue eyes. The color blue isn’t in the handbook. Blue lights simply don’t exist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because the idea of Benny teaching Dean how to cook for Cas on their first date was too cute for me not to write. (And HOW have I not thought of it before???)

 

"What is it we're making again? Chicken Corfue-Cordue-Corbin Bleu—?"

" _Chicken Cordon Bleu_."

"Yeah, I would've liked Corbin Bleu." Dean gets lost behind a thought that can’t be projected onto a nearby wall. Nor does he _want_ it to. _Although…_

"Dean, come back to me,” Benny instructs, Cajun accent and all as he snaps his fingers over Dean’s lightly tanned and freckled—though definitely not lightly edged—face. “Do you wanna impress this guy or not?"

"Cas," Dean corrects sharply, “his name is Cas, alright?"

Benny’s thick eyebrow quirks up. "There it is."

"What?"

"There's the passion I was looking for." Benny’s smile is like a teapot—short but stout, tilting the left side of his face higher until all the contents pour out the lip: "First rule in culinary: Cookin' is an art, not a craft. It's about making something that evokes an emotional response. Cars."

Dean narrows his eyes. "What?"

"You're good with cars, right?" asks Benny.

"Benny, we've known each other since the fifth grade." Dean pauses, and though, by that statement, he doesn’t need to defend himself, Benny’s lightening blue eyes always strike him when he least expects, so he crosses his arms a little tighter and shifts a little in his stance: "I'm not 'good' with cars—I built my dad's '67 Chevy from the ground up when I was 11."

"Good. Hone in on that memory when ya cook. Trust me; it'll be a lot more satisfying if you do. Just don't think on it _too_ much. Don't need ya burnin' my place down."

Dean has to refrain from whining when he asks, "Why can't I just make him a cheeseburger? I know I’m gonna screw this up somehow.”

"Burgers ain't sexy,” Benny says with such finality, it’s as if it’s the golden rule to becoming a natural, modern-day swooner like Daniel Craig or Richard Gere.

" _Cheese_ burgers _. Cheese_."

"Alright, _cheese_ burgers ain't sexy."

"You know that's an insult to cheeseburgers everywhere, right?"

"Well it'll be an even bigger insult to Cas if ya prepare him a half-assed meal,” Benny sasses.

Dean grinds his jaw. He knows what Benny says is true. Cas is, at the risk of sounding like a romcom on fluff steroids, the answer to prayers he never thought he had. Dean’s a guy who has little conviction in himself alone, so for him to make that claim is extraordinary in itself.

Plus, he’s wearing an apron, so that has to count for something.

"You're a half-assed... meal—just show me,” grunts Dean, futilely yanking his apron to cover more of himself.

Benny wags his finger, but can’t help the smile that blooms across his face: "I won't show you, I'll _teach_ —"

"Benny, I swear on my onset migraine I _will_ take him to Biggerson's."

**

Dean’s facing the double-door entrance to Benny’s Dinner, leaning against a table. The small round table is dressed for a wedding in a modest white gown that extends halfway to the floor on either legs with a bottle of complementary red wine even Dean can’t pronounce with a continuing college education sitting atop along with a single red rose in a beaker, and tin covers for entrees soon to unfold Dean’s creation.

On the other side of him, beyond the double doors and then some, is a streetlight that waves a shaky hello to the cars zipping underneath. It makes him wonder how the terms “red light” and “green light” came to be, and how yellow was excluded. That would be Dean’s primary color right now: proceed with caution.

“Alright, I’m lockin’ up. You sure you don’t want someone helpin’ out behind the scenes?”

“Nah, Benny, go home,” Dean responds, mustering a small, albeit curbed smile, “you deserve it.”

“Damn right I do, I ain’t your mistress,” Benny replies, winking as he grips Dean’s shoulder. “Good luck, Chief.”

Dean levels his gaze with his best friend’s and grabs his shoulder too. “Thank you, for everything.”

Benny knows they’re talking about more than the dinner preparations. Dean’s mind isn’t as forgetful as he paints it to be. He clearly remembers every monster he’s fought in his life, every time he’s hit the ground and skinned his knees, and every last, lingering taste of regret on his tongue—but, next to his own flesh and blood that’s his little brother, he’ll never, ever forget the unswerving loyalty Benny has served him. No, not served, earned—and rightfully so. It’s impossible for Dean and Benny to be two peas in a pod when they share the same, beating soul and practically the shirts off each other’s backs.

Dean, even after all these years, is still working on self-worth issues. This cooking thing has helped him a lot.

Not that he’ll tell Benny that.

Although, he’s sure he’ll be able to find a way to thank _Cas_ later.

“Anytime, brother,” Benny says, letting go of his shoulder to throw his hat over his head, only to tip it as he walks off. Of course, as Benny’s leaving, Cas walks in, and only does Benny fade completely from view _after_ he raises his eyebrows as if to say, _Not bad_.

Dean laughs, and tries not to let it get caught in his throat as Cas approaches with his own brows raised, drawing his earthy blue eyes open like blinds on a window.

“Wow,” he breaths, and though he’s talked with him on the phone for a few weeks after getting his number, Cas’s raspy voice still sends chills down Dean’s spine, “this is…  impressive.”

Dean tries out a mock shrug. “It’s just something I whipped up last minute, no big deal.”

“Right,” Cas laughs as he gestures around them while stepping closer, “and is the whole place…?”

“Booked—for us.”

“Wow,” he repeats. Dean will never get tired of hearing that word. “How did you score that?”

Dean lends out his arm as he replies, “I told my best friend I was on a date with the most gorgeous guy. He’s really smart too. Maybe you know him.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to meet him, that’s quite the double threat.”

“Triple—he also has a wicked sense of humor.”

Cas’s face flashes red like a red light, though his actions are entirely the opposite: He steps closer to Dean accepts the hand offered to him. It’s nothing more than a light weaving of their hands, but Dean can feel Cas’s pulse drumming against his fingers, and that calms him down some, because the butterflies in his stomach are edgily awaiting the green light. Cas, however, is looking up at him with those deep blue eyes. The color blue isn’t in the handbook. Blue lights simply don’t exist.

This is their first time on a date, let alone holding hands. It took Dean everything short of a shot of liquid courage to nut up and ask Cas out—even though he knew he liked the guy the first day they crossed paths at a secondhand store while Dean was perusing the “lumberjack” section and Cas the “third-tier agent” section—so everything happening right now is, to both of them, like dipping their toes into unknown water.

Dean pulls out the chair for Cas, who slides in gracefully—unsurprisingly; the guy looks like an angel, so he must be one. Dean swivels around the table and, before taking the seat across from him, stretches his arms so they’re on the knobs of both food covers.

“Okay, promise not to hate me if this tastes like crap.”

Cas drops his head with a raised brow. “Dean, don’t test me, I _will_ come over there and kiss the doubt off you.”

“I honestly wouldn’t mind it if you did,” Dean chuckles shyly, then lifts one hand from his cover briefly to concede upon seeing Cas shake his head with a grin, “Okay, okay.”

Dean lifts the covers and the aroma of ground pepper and mustard delights his nose. The look of it is pretty nice too; the crumbs not too bunched together and the mustard sauce sitting like a comforter minus the bloat on top of a mattress and hanging off the meat. The basil perched on top of each dish nice touch, too.

Huh, Dean thinks, smiling, _that’s actually kind of awesome._ He feels that emotional response Benny was talking about racing through him: here and now, he feels elation—pride.

He turns his head to look at Cas, who’s trading between a confused and amused look as he jokes:                  

"You know, I would've been perfectly fine with a cheeseburger."


End file.
